


In Peeta's Eyes

by FanytasticLife



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanytasticLife/pseuds/FanytasticLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hunger Games in Peeta's view because who knows what he did with the Careers? Who knows how he survived by the stream? This is a fanfiction you don't want to miss with already almost 3,000 viewers on fanfiction.net!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer & note: I don't own any character except for Johnny and Rye. I kept playing on the bread idea. Johnny is like Johnnycake and Rye is just rye haha. The other characters belong to the brilliant Suzanne Collins :) All the quotes that involve Peeta hearing Katniss and all is the work of Ms. Collins NOT me.

I wake up to the smell of baking bread, like every morning. It's 6:30, no better time to get started on the flour, at least on a normal day. But today is the day of the reaping.

I brush my teeth and quickly change into my reaping clothes, as I won't be doing much today to get it dirty. Blue, carefully ironed shirt, on top of brown, simple pants.

On reaping day, the bakery is closed, with only a few exceptions, so when I hear the sound of a door opening and closing downstairs quietly, I am surprised. The people are trying not to be heard. I venture down the stairs and see Gale Hawthorne. one of the boys from the Seam, whispering to my father, the baker. They are sitting across from each other in the bakery that is usually teeming with activity at this time. Today is the exception.

"Good morning, Gale," I say politely, even though I never liked him.

"Hi, Peeta," Gale says, not bothering to look up.

Gale hands my father a squirrel in exchange for a loaf of bread. Normally, I'd protest at such a bad trade, but today is the day of the reaping. Everyone is feeling closer today.

"Good luck, Gale." my father says, and I can't help feeling bad for Gale.

Everyone knows the reaping system is unfair. The poor get the worst of it. Every child between the ages of twelve through eighteen are entered in for the annual Hunger Games, a televised fight to the death. You are entered once, at the age of twelve, once more at the age of thirteen. Since the entries are cumulative, you'd have seven entries at the age of eighteen. It seems pretty equal, right? Not.

If you are starving and poor, you can opt to enter your name in more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a year's supply of oil and grain, but just barely enough. For people that are poor and have a big family, like Gale, this is unfair. You can do this for all your family members. One person with tesserae, one extra entry. Gale has been feeding a family of five for seven years. His name is also entered seven times because he has to. His name will be entered forty-two times this year and I will be entered only five times.

"Good luck, Peeta," says Gale, walking out the door. It's clear in his eyes that he knows I won't be going to the Capitol anytime soon, or I have a really small chance.

I sit by the window and eat a muffin for breakfast. Normally, I'd eat a loaf of stale bread, the bread no one wants. But not today. I always wake up earlier than my two brothers on reaping day. I suppose I'm just woken by nightmares, replays of previous Games, afraid that I will have to live through the terror.

I glance out the window and see Katniss Everdeen, the girl I've had a crush on since I was five, although I would never admit it to her face, and Gale. They're hunting partners. Only hunting partners, they say, only friends. I think there's something more between them, at least for Gale. They walk into The Hob, the black market here in District 12. The street is free of people. Usually, there are coal miners getting up and buying supplies before they enter the mines. Not today though. Everyone tries to sleep in if they can. At two, we are required to go to the square. Required. Peacekeepers, the officials, will investigate the reason why you weren't at the reaping. If you are on your deathbed, you are excused. If not, they'll have you imprisoned.

"Hey Peeta, you're up early!" exclaims my oldest brother, Rye, making me look up. He's safe, too old for the reaping, unlike Johnny, our other brother, and me.

"Yeah, well I had nightmares again," I say, not wanting to elaborate further. My brothers would never understand my nightmares. We have enough to eat, although the bread is usually stale and hard.

"Nice hair!" Johnny jokes, entering the kitchen, his hair a mess. My hair is ashy blond. It falls in waves over my forehead. Right now, it is a little messy, some hairs curling up.

"I'm going to comb my hair, alright?! Can you just lay off me?" I exclaim, not knowing where the anger came from. It's just, today is a stressful day for everyone.

Our house/bakery has two stories. The top is our living place, the bottom is the bakery and kitchen. I run back upstairs, to the bathroom and slam the door. I calm down and look outside the window. There's Katniss again, heading home. Getting prepared for the reaping. I suppose I'm a shy guy. I stick to the town boys in terms of friends. She has dark brown hair that's always in a braid. Her gray eyes give the impression that she's intelligent and observant. She's talented with her bow and arrows. I know this because she'll usually bring in squirrel to trade with my father. I comb my hair absentmindedly, lost in my daydreams of Katniss, until my father knocks on the door and warns that we are leaving in five minutes. At least my hair has returned to its normal wavy place.

I set off with my family, five minutes later. The children, the ones eligible for the reaping, are lead to roped off areas. The eighteen-year-olds in the front, the twelve-year-olds in the back. I am lead to the area of sixteen year olds. I glance around. Camera crews look like hawks, searching for prey. Bright banners are hanging too, but that fools no one. Everyone is silent as they file in. All we can do now is wait.

It starts to feel a little claustrophobic as the square fills up. The square's not big enough to hold all of District Twelve, so I'm not surprised when I see people being led off to another street. They watch the reaping on huge televisions. People slip through the crowd with betting slips. They're usually people without children. Bets are placed on which two children will be drawn, depending on if they're town kids or Seam, if they have taken tesserae, and of course, their ages. Most people refuse to bet, but if they do, they bet very carefully.

I focus on three chairs on the stage in the square. It's temporary, unlike the Games. Only two out of three chairs are occupied. The mayor of our district seems to murmur to the woman next to him, fresh from the Capitol. The woman's name is Effie Trinket. She is District 12's escort and she looks absolutely terrifying in her spring green suit, complete with pink hair and a grin. I remember who's supposed to be in the chair. This is the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. There have been two victors from District Twelve and only one is still living. His name is Haymitch Abernathy. He's drunk every minute of every day, though.

The mayor starts the long history of Panem. It's the same every year. The history of Panem isn't very interesting. We're the country that rose out of the ashes of what was once called North America. There were many storms, droughts, floods, fires, and other disasters that eroded the land away. Then came the wars, humanity fighting to survive, when there was already little left. Panem became the result, which consisted of thirteen districts that were ruled by a Capitol. The Dark Days happened, the districts rebelled against the Capitol. However, twelve of the thirteen districts were defeated, and the thirteenth bombed, destroyed.

The Treaty of Treason requires us, the districts, to provide one boy and one girl from each district to fight with each other and the tributes from the other districts in a vast arena that can range from a giant forest, to mountains, to a dream-like scene. We're in District 12, about as poor as you can get. If you are chosen to be a tribute, you go to the Capitol as they plan your death. Everyone has to watch and celebrate it like a holiday. Sounds like loads of fun, huh? You're only out of the Games when you die unless you win. If you're the last one standing, you win and live a life of ease and become rich. Your district gets gifts, mostly food we can't afford normally, for a year. This is the punishment for the rebellion and it shows that there should never be one again. We have no choice. In the wealthier districts, 1,2, and 4, it is considered an honor to be chosen and some actually volunteer. Even though it's illegal, they are trained beforehand. The are called the Careers, here in 12. More often than not, a Career is a winner. They are trained to survive the Games.

"It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks," the mayor finishes.

He introduces Haymitch, the only victor of 12 alive. Like every day, he's drunk. The crowd cheers like they're supposed to, but it's forced. He falls into the third chair on the stage, confused. He gives Effie Trinket a big hug and shrugs away from his grasp.

The mayor must be so tired of having our only living victor drunk. All the reapings are televised, so every citizen of Panem must be laughing at us. He decides to pull the attention away by introducing Effie.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Effie exclaims, as usual, in her so affected Capitol accent. "What an honor it is for me to chose the tributes of District Twelve!" This is a lie and everybody knows it. She can't wait to be promoted to a better district. Instead she's stuck with us, the district with the drunk victor, embarrassing you in front of the whole nation of Panem.

"Ladies first!" Effie says happily, with a grin.

I stare at the two balls that hold the slips of paper with the names of the children, one for girls, one for boys. I try to calculate how many slips Katniss has in the glass bowl. She's sixteen, so she has five entries that are required. She lives in a family of three since her father died in a mine explosion. Gale's father died of the same one. She's definitely taken tesserae for five years. Five times three is fifteen entries due to tesserae. Five plus fifteen equals twenty. Twenty slips. There are twenty chances in thousands that she could be picked. I try to convince myself that it's a low number. There are thousands of slips.

Effie Trinket digs deep inside the glass ball. She pulls out a slip and I hold my breath, along with all those around me. Suddenly, I am scared to think that Katniss will be picked and I'll never get to tell her how I feel. I glance over at her. I know she's worried about her sister, Primrose. Prim's twelve, so this is her first year. I'm almost positive Prim hasn't taken any tesserae, so it's pretty impossible for her to get chosen. Twenty slips with Katniss Everdeen written on them- that's not too much! I'm still trying to convince myself.

"Please, not Katniss, not Katniss!" I mutter.

It's not Katniss. It's Prim.


	2. Chapter 2

I stand there in as much shock as those around me. With many gaping mouths, we watch Prim walk to the stage.

"Prim! Prim!" Katniss runs up to Prim and pushes her behind her with her hand. "I volunteer as tribute!" she shouts.

The whole square is silent, as we stare in surprise. We haven't had a volunteer in a while. This is because here in District Twelve, we just grit our teeth and watch, trying to ignore the terrible Games. No one, and I mean no one, has volunteered in decades. Basically, the rules are, the girl and boy tribute are picked and they ask for volunteers.

"Lovely!" Effie says. I wonder how that woman can be so happy. That's the way it is in the Capitol, I suppose. This makes me filled with fury. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." She doesn't know what to do. I chuckle at this, knowing that the Capitol needs its control.

"What does it matter?" the mayor says, pain clear in his voice. I've seen Katniss around at school, sometimes put with Madge, the mayor's daughter, so the mayor must know her at least a little. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" Prim's screaming hysterically, wrapped around Katniss like her life was on the line- which is funny, because where she's going, it is almost certain death.

"Prim, let go!" Katniss says, a little harshly for her sister. This is painful for her, everyone can see it in Katniss eyes. "Let go!"

Gale glides forward and lifts Prim into his arms. He whispers something to Katniss.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" Effie's happy. With this action, everyone's pretty much forgotten the Haymitch hug.

"Katniss Everdeen." Katniss says it clearly, but only after swallowing. You can see the hesitation. It's obvious she never believed this would happen. This is Prim's first year, and Prim is probably even more terrified, she will be forever haunted. Katniss isn't a weakling- she doesn't want to give anyone the right to say that about her.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"Effie beams.

Not. A. Single. Person. Claps. I suppose this is District 12's only way to show their disapproval. Even the ones beyond caring, the ones with the betting slips.

I've never thought that Katniss was someone who District 12 cares about, and I'm sure neither does she. Katniss is from the Seam. The place where no one cares about anyone but their own families. Katniss is one of the people who aren't full every single day. I spy a few people from the Hob touch their three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out for Katniss. I follow in suit, and soon, every person in the crowd has done it. Here in Twelve, it means thank you for all you have done, and someone precious is leaving, goodbye.

Haymitch rises from his chair, and drunkily staggers his way toward Katniss. I don't like the way he's throwing his arm around Katniss. She flinches at the touch. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her! Lots of..." He's so drunk he can't think. "Spunk!" he exclaims, finally satisfied with the word he's chosen. "More than you! More then you!" He's pointing at the camera. Is he addressing the Capitol? Or perhaps the audience? It's brave of him. No one knows for sure who he's addressing, and we don't find out because while he opens his mouth, he steps clear off the stage and lies there, unconscious.

Katniss seems to have zoned out, staring at some hills or the woods in the distance. Men appear to take Haymitch away on a stretcher.

Effie's determined to get through the reaping. Her dream to get promoted to a better district will never happen at this rate, so she has to up her game. "What an exciting day!" she exclaims, adjusting her weird, pink hair that must be a wig because her hair is teetering on the right side of her head, threatening to fall off, through all this action. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute."

Without hesitation, Effie Trinket reaches into the glass ball and grabs the first slip she sees. It happened so fast that none of the crowd was able to brace themselves. We were all still wondering about Haymitch, and Effie's wig, too.

I should have braced myself because the next two words pretty much ended my life.

"Peeta Mellark." Effie reads off the slip in a clear crisp voice.

Instantly, I feel too hot. My heart is racing and the sun is in my eyes, making me dizzy. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

Somehow, I regain my breathing ability and climb to the stage. Steady, you can't show your vulnerability, but it's obvious that my face splays the shock and I struggle to appear emotionless.

Volunteers for this young man? Anyone feeling brave, like Katniss? Effie's facial expression seems to say, but she doesn't actually ask it, luckily.

Rye's too old to volunteer. Johnny won't volunteer, I know that for sure. My friends will be devastated if I die, but no one wants that fate to themselves. No one will volunteer for me.

The mayor reads the pointless Treaty of Treason, while I wonder if there's any chance of survival. I don't think any tributes even listen to the Treaty.

Katniss looks like she's lost in a memory. She's staring at me like someone just issued her a death sentence, which, if you think about it, someone has. I wonder if she wants to slit my throat. I did nothing wrong. In fact, I helped her out of a tight spot a few years ago.

It was raining like never before when I saw her, Katniss, that is. I was eleven and so was she. Katniss was at our trash bins, which had just been empty. She was so skinny, and it made me sad to think about how many days she's been hungry. My father and two brothers went to another shop to buy a new, decent pair of shoes for Johnny, so it was just Mother and me holding down the fort. My mother asked what I was looking at, so she looked out the window as well. Fury blossomed on her face and soon, she was outside. I followed, a little scared.

My mother started yelling about the Seam kids always pawing through her trash because they can't afford anything in the town. I peeked out behind my mother to look at her and she had held my gaze. Katniss neatly replaced the lid on the trash bin. She was soaking wet. Oh, how I wish I could tell her to come inside and get warmed up, maybe eat some bread! I had thought. My mother had trudged back in, cursing, and I followed, but not before I saw Katniss scurry to the old apple tree in my backyard, by the pig.

My mother had told me to bring the bread we had been baking, until Katniss had interrupted us, I walked into the dining room to wait. The bread was a golden brown, perfect, really. There's hardly a day when we don't eat stale bread, or the leftovers of the bakery that no one buys. That day we had very good business and were rewarded with actually eating bread we would normally only bake for wealthier people. I looked out the window again, at Katniss. She was slumped over in the mud.

I made a decision quickly. I kept the bread in the oven until it burned. My mother trudged in to see why I took so long and she lost it.

"Why would you keep the bread in so long?! It's burned now!" My mother had screamed.

She grabbed a long wooden spoon and smacked my face, but I refused to cry. I took the two loaves of bread and padded softly to the back door.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" My mother was still yelling at me when I walked outside in the rain.

In case my mother was watching, I started to rip off chunks of bread and tossed it to the pig. I heard the front bell ring, and I knew my mother would hurry to help a customer.

I looked back at the bakery to make sure my mother was really gone, and threw one loaf of bread in Katniss' direction. Her eyes were wide, curious, as I threw the other loaf of bread and sloshed through the mud, back to the bakery without looking back.

The next day, my eye had blackened and my cheek was swollen. I looked across the schoolyard and my eyes met Katniss'. I looked away, embarrassed, but I knew that I was the one who had helped her.

The mayor finally finishes the Treaty, and motions for Katniss and me to shake hands. Her soft hand is shaking slightly, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. I don't want to lose her in the Games. I will not kill her. I will be there for her if I can. There is only one victor in these Games. And I will ensure that it's her.


	3. Chapter 3

After the anthem, we are lead into the doors of the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. I'm told to go into a room separate from Katniss. I wonder if Katniss' room is as rich as mine. A carpet runs across the room, and there's even a nice chair and a couch. They're made of velvet. I've felt it before when I went shopping for a new bedspread with my father. I don't know what material could be richer than velvet. It's pretty much the richest fabric we have in District 12, and only the wealthiest of the town can afford it, like Madge, the mayor's daughter. I wonder how the Capitol will look. Could it get better than this?

We, meaning the tributes, are allowed one hour for our loved ones to visit. My father comes in first, and I burst out in tears at the sight of him. I know I look weak, but there's not way for me to keep in my tears with my family. I sit down on the velvet chair.

"Dad, please, don't break down while I'm gone. Everything you'll see on that TV, it's an act. I won't be coming home, okay? I'm doing everything to ensure Katniss comes home. Her family needs her. And Dad, I-I-I fell for Katniss like you fell for her mom. And-" I'm overcome by emotion as a fresh wave of tears rolls by.

"It's okay, son, I know. I promise you I won't be falling to pieces if something happens to you. The least I can do it grant your last wish to me," Dad says, softly. My father isn't much of a talker or comforter. He sits down on the couch. "I think you're the one breaking down," he chuckles.

"I'll hold on as long as I can, but there's no guarantee I'll even make it through the blood bath!" I say.

"You're strong, Peeta. Don't underestimate yourself," my dad says. The Peacekeepers appear to take him away. His time is up and he stands up. "Good luck, Peeta. I love you."

My mother comes in next. She doesn't say much either.

"Hi, Mom. Are Johnny and Rye coming to see me too?" I ask, trying to start a conversation.

"Yes... District Twelve actually have a winner this year, did you know that?" Mom says.

I'm surprised that my mom confidence in me. I'm about to say thank you when she says, "She's a survivor, that one is."

I say nothing, because what is there to say when your own mother doesn't believe in you? What kind of person, who didn't care about Katniss all those years ago when she came completely famished and malnourished, searching the trash bins near the bakery for even a hint of food.

We sit in silence until Mom says, "Good luck, son." The Peacekeepers come to take her away.

Next, Rye and Johnny come. They sit on the couch and Johnny is crying.

"I'm so sorry for laughing at your hair today!" Johnny bursts out. I laugh because when you're saying your last goodbyes, they're normally serious. "And I'm sorry for everything else I laughed at you for! I just don't want you to go!" he shouts.

Rye tells me, "Listen, you're strong, but you need to learn how to survive. We're town kids, we don't know how to look for food. We don't know how to defend ourselves. You need knives and you need to know who to make alliances with. We've been watching these Games since we were practically toddlers! You need to do the best you can to win, okay, Peeta?" I'm taken aback at Rye's seriousness.

"I will Rye, I will try hard. I'll find weapons, learn which plants are edible, make allies, and find water quickly. I'll try really hard to come home! Don't you believe what you see on the screen is who I am. I'm not going to let the Capitol change me into someone they're not. They can't own me!" I shout, for him, more than me. I'll try hard to win, but Katniss needs to come home more than I do.

The Peacekeepers come too soon and the three of us are shouting that we love each other and that we'll do our best to get through these Games. The door slams shut. I silently weep, knowing both Katniss and I stand only a tiny chance of surviving, of coming home, that my mom doesn't believe in me. I'm feeling alone.

A Peacekeeper enters, saying that my hour is up. He leads me to a car and we speed off to the train station. Like Katniss, I've never ridden a car before. Even though there's a distinct difference between the Seam and the town, everyone in Twelve really travels on foot.

The station is full of cameras and reporters. I glance at Katniss. Her face is clear of tears, and they bear no evidence of pre-existing tears either. I'm horrified to catch an image of my own face, my eyes red. Oh well. The others will pass it off as me trying to look weak. I suppose that's a little difficult, with my broad shoulders and hard muscles. They can think what they want.

We stand at the doorway of the train and wait for the doors to open. Cameras flash and pretty much swallow us up. The doors of the train slide open smoothly ad the close just as smoothly. The reporters are still clutching their cameras, pressed against the glass, shouting our names.

"Peeta! Katniss! How do you feel about-" the reporter that was in front of me is cut off as the train pulls out of the station.

The train is fast, maybe 200 to 250 miles per hour. The speed makes my stomach churn at first, and I wonder if I'll stay sick, but the feeling soon passes. I wonder how far we'll have to travel, but at this speed, we be at the Capitol in no time.

I've learned that the Capitol is in a faraway place that the people used to call the Rockies. District 12 is a part of the region that was known as Appalachia. Appalachia used to have mountains. They used to mine coal where Twelve is, so our miners have to dig even deeper, dangerously deep.

Effie shows us to our rooms. I get a peek into Katniss' chambers because her room is first. It's even more luxurious than the room in the Justice Building. The room is painted green, the bedspread to match. I don't get to see much more because Katniss is closing the door. And locking it. Ouch. That hurts. Effie tells her to be ready for supper in an hour.

Effie leads me to my chambers and says that I can do what I want and wear what I want. I close the door behing her. My room is painted a beautiful orange, like sunset, my favorite color. The pillows match. It's exactly like Katniss', except the colors vary. My chambers include a bedroom, a dressing area, and a bathroom. I undress and step into the shower, turning it to warm. The water relaxes me, calms me down. I wish I could stay under the warm water forever, but I get out in half an hour.

I choose a clean, light blue dress shirt and dark pants that have a soft, light feel to it. I decide to sit on my bed for a few minutes, enjoying the coolness of the sheets. They'd be perfect for warm nights and cool nights alike. I can't help wondering what Katniss is doing. Then, I remember that Effie told Katniss to be ready to eat in an hour. It's been 47 minutes, and I decide to leave my chambers early.

It takes me a while to find the dining car. I pass Haymitch along the way and ask him if he wants to eat. He's drunk, like always.

"Ehh? No, I'm takin' a nap," he says, his words slurring as he stumbles to his room.

The table is set when I walk into the dining car, with forks, spoons, and knives. The plates are made of china. There are napkins and even wine glasses. Katniss, Effie, and Haymitch are nowhere in sight, so I sit alone for a few minutes, feeling a little lonely. The chairs are crafted out of dark wood, beautifully smooth, the table made of the same. There's a long, crisp, white tablecloth covering the table.  
Before long, Effie and Katniss appear. Katniss is wearing a dark, forest green shirt and long pants. She had pinned a gold pin with a small bird and a ring around it.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie says, clearly happy he's not here.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I reply.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie.

A thick carrot soup comes first, then a salad with lots of greens. I start to realize that our supper is going to include courses. Next comes lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and finally a chocolate cake. Everything is definitely richer than any food I've ever had, except the chocolate cake. It's pretty standard and surprisingly, we bake better cake at the bakery. It tastes more natural, too, fresh. I do all the frosting and designs. Sometimes, around New Year's, Prim pulls Katniss over to the glass displays we have, to admire my decorating skills. You can tell they think the cakes are beautiful by their smiles as they move from one cake to another. I smile at the memory.

Effie tells us to save space and that there's more food to come, basically every time we're served a new course. It's good to gain a little weight before the Games, where food is usualy scarce.

As we're finishing the main course, Effie says, "At least, you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."  
I'm pretty sure last year's tributes were from the Seam. No one from the Seam is ever full. When they saw the feast in front of them on the tribute train, surely table manners is something they wouldn't care about.

Katniss is proper and I'm sure her parents taught her right. I am a baker's son and it wouldn't be right if I didn't have any manners. I stifle a laugh as I notice Katniss eating the rest of the meal with her fingers and wipes her hands on the finger table. Effie looks annoyed.

Now that the meal's over, It's hard to keep the food that I just ate in my stomach. It's rich food and never have I eaten so much of it. Katniss looks a little sick too.

We walk to another compartment of the train and watch recaps of today's reapings in all the districts. Apparently, the Capitol tries to play the reapings throughout the day so that viewers could technically watch the whole thing live, but of course, only the Capitol people can watch it in this way because everyone else is at their own district's reaping. Some of the tributes stand out. The girl from 1 has blonde hair, green eyes, easy to get sponsors. The boy from 2, a volunteer, radiates power and control, as does the boy from 11. A little girl, wispy, and very much like Katniss' sister, Prim, is chosen in 11 and no one volunteers for her. We re-watch our own reaping, Katniss' bravery for volunteering for her sister and the desperation in her voice, afraid she won't e heard and they'll take her away.

Effie re-watches her precious wig get messy all over again. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior," she says, pursing her lips.

"He was drunk," I say, laughing. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss can't help saying with a smirk. Effie sounds like she can fix up Haymitch easily. She sounds so... so much like the Capitol people. That's the only way to describe Effie.

"Yes," Effie hisses. "How odd you to find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Haymitch staggers into the compartment at that moment. His timing couldn't have been more perfect. "I miss supper?" he says, words slurred. He vomits all over a carpet that must have cost a whole load of money to buy. He falls in the mess, making it doubly worse.

"So laugh away!" Effie says, with a glare that bores holes through Katniss and myself at the same time. In her pointy shoes, she haughtily steps around the mess and runs away from the room, clearly disgusted.


	4. Chapter 4

We survey the scene for a few minutes before exchanging a glance. Haymitch keeps trying to get out of the vomit. We will depend on him in the arena. He'll be our mentor before the Games, as well as during. He'll be the one who lines up our sponsors and such. Katniss and I pull Haymitch to his feet by his arms.

"I tripped? Smells bad," Haymitch says when we pull him up. He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing the vomit that already existed on his face.

"Let's get you back to your room," I say, even though I'm not sure he can comprehend what I'm saying. "Clean you up a bit."

It takes a long time to lead and carry Haymitch. It takes loads of teamwork too, between Katniss and me. We dump Haymitch in the bathtub because with all the expensive furniture in his room, there's simply no other place to put him. I turn the shower on him and he doesn't even flinch.

I can tell this is making Katniss uncomfortable, so I say, "It's okay, I'll take it from here."

Katniss hesitates, possibly thinking I'm kissing up to Haymitch, but relents probably because he's so drunk, he won't remember this tomorrow.

"All right. I can send one of the Capitol people to help you," Katniss says. There are too many Capitol people on board to count. They cook for us, serve us, guard us, we're their top priority.

The Capitol is already taking away our lives, the least I can do is save our privacy. "No. I don't want them," I say.

Katniss nods and heads off to her room, while I'm stuck here with Haymitch. I volunteered so she could get some rest and possibly do any emotional breakdown that she didn't do when we had the hour to say goodbye to our families. Katniss could wash off the damage before morning. Oh, who am I kidding? I volunteered so she doesn't have to wash him. How exactly am I supposed to wash the vile bile?

I grab a rough sponge that is hanging on a hook above the tub and scrub the visible vomit on Haymitch, such as his face and neck. I locate a bottle of shampoo and dump what looks to be half the bottle on Haymitch's hair. Then, I scrub his hair, removing dirt, vomit, and who knows what else? Satisfied, I practically rip his shirt off him. He can always get another one. I scrub the vomit off his chest with the same rough sponge I used for his face.

I find a bottle of body wash that's lavender scented and squeeze most of the bottle onto his chest. I rub his chest, spreading the soap, ignoring the fact that his chest hair is so long and curly, it's uncomfortable for me. Definitely ignored his chest hair. I roll him over on his back and wash it. I don't think he'd care if I didn't wash his legs and such, so I turn off the water.

"All right, Haymitch. Let's get you dry so you can sleep, and so can I," I practically shout at him. I get him to climb out of the bathtub and stand up. I grab some towels and dry him off.

I guide Haymitch to his bed and lay him down- sideways, of course, so he won't choke if he vomits more.

"I'm going now, Haymitch. See you in the morning," I say, exhausted.

I head back to my room and lie down on my bed, on top of the covers. I wonder how my parents are holding up, Rye and Johnny too. Normally, they would be celebrating that no one in our family is forced to participate in the Games, and eat a feast of good bread. But tonight, I'm not so sure they would eat the feast. My brothers and father must surely be crying. My mother, I'm not so sure. She'll be a little heartbroken, but she'll be alright in no time. She's strong. No, that wouldn't be the right word. Tough. She's tough, almost too tough to feel heartbreak over her son's probably definite death.

I sigh and strip off all my clothes and climb into bed with just my undershorts, not bothering to change into some other fancy clothes that I'll be forced leave behind, like everything else in my life- except Katniss. She's going to the Capitol with me. Suddenly, I don't feel so alone anymore. I have someone to befriend, maybe the only person I'll be able to trust in the arena, my district partner. Maybe, just maybe, we could become something more, something more than friends. The darkness is welcoming, and I fall into a slumber, my last thoughts about Katniss.

I awake early in the morning and immediately wonder if Katniss is awake too. This thought puts me into action, climbing out of bed, choosing an outfit that's similar to the one I wore yesterday, and finding the dining car again.

Only Haymitch is in the dining car, eating a roll. His face is red and swollen, probably from yesterday's vomit mess and such. I sit down and grab a roll myself, just as Effie passes through the dining car, muttering about tributes needing to be on time, which probably means Katniss will be coming soon.

Effie returns and disappears in pursuit of a fresh pot of coffee she believes she can find three cars over. She's still muttering about lateness and such

"So, Peeta. You're a baker's son, huh? Do you have this kind of bread?" Haymitch asks, holding up a roll.

"Uh, I think so. Have you ever eaten it before at our bakery?" I ask because I'm not always at the bakery. Sometimes, I'm moving bags of flour from place to place on my mom's orders, or doing other errands.

Effie comes back with her coffee and sits down to listen to our comversation.

"No, of course not. I don't like to go to the market shops too much. Don't like the  
people much. Once, I stumbled into the bakery though, by accident. It was when you were a little kid. You saw me on the street near my house with my liquor bottle, saying it wasn't good for me. You smashed it and I was so mad. I grabbed you by the back of your jacket and demanded to speak to your parents about your behavior. You pointed the way to the bakery and I was yelling at your parents for not teaching you better. You cried and your dad said it was a misunderstanding and you would never do it again," Haymitch says, chuckling.

Katniss enters the car and Effie brushes past her, muttering obscenities.

I realize I'm still holding my roll and set it down on my plate. I run my hands through my hair absentmindedly and look at Katniss, still in the doorway. She stares at me, probably wondering when I got here. I blush and look away, embarrassed.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Haymitch raise his eyebrow and mumble, "Hmmm, interesting." He looks at Katniss and says, "Sit down! Sit down!" and waves her over to the seat next to me.

Katniss sits down and is immediately served an enormous platter. There are foods like ham, eggs, and fried potatoes. A tureen holds fruits and ice. She gets a selection of rolls in a basket, just like me. Orange juice, coffee, and a drink called hot chocolate, are her drink choices.

It's clear Katniss has never had any of these things, and has no clue what the hot chocolate is. I ha just learned it a few minutes ago myself, when I was served it. "They call it hot chocolate. It's good," I blurt out to help her identify the drink she finds a mystery.

I dip bits of rolls and dip it in my hot chocolate instead of just drinking it flat out. I observe Katniss in between my dipping. She takes a cautious sip to test it out, then doesn't have any food until she drains her cup of hot chocolate. She then eats what her stomach can hold. I watch Haymitch for a while, noticing him thinning a glass of red juice with a liquid from a bottle. The fumes help me identify it as some sort of spirit, and I see Katniss shrink back, recognizing it too.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," Katniss tells Haymitch.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," Haymitch says, and laughs. I glance over at Katniss, angry. Our lives are on the line and we get this drunkard who can't even stay sober enough to give us a shred of real advice.

"That's very funny," I say. Then, I lash at the glass Haymitch is holding. It falls to the floor and shatters on contact. "Only not to us."

Haymitch thinks about this scene before him and then punches me in the jaw. I fall out of my chair and see Haymitch reach for his spirits. Katniss drives a knife through the table. Oooh, fierce. I can't see much from the floor.

Haymitch says, "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I stand up and scoop ice from the tureen of fruit. I'm raising it to the red mark on my jaw when Haymitch says, "No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I protest.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," Haymitch says before turning to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

I'm pretty sure Katniss can throw a knife. I know she's best with a bow and arrows, but I'm sure she would be smart enough to carry more than one weapon with her and be able to use them. Katniss yanks out the knife and throws it into the wall a good distance away. The knife lodges in the seam between two panels. I could probably do the same, since I practice at home with the knives in our kitchen, but since Haymitch didn't ask, I don't show my skills.

Haymitch looks impressed. "Stand over here. Both of you." Haymitch orders, his head nodding toward the room's center. We do as he asks and he circles around us, checking our muscles, prodding them, examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

Along with other strange aspects of the Capitol people, they like to see more good-looking tributes and will sponsor the best-looking ones. Every tribute knows this, but to say it out loud would probably make you lose sponsors.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say," Haymitch says.

Happy to have a little help, I say, "Fine.

"So help us," Katniss says, testing our agreement. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-"

"One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," Haymitch tells us.

"But-" Katniss starts.

"No buts. Don't resist," Haymitch says. With that happy note, he grabs the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. The car goes dark as he closes the door behind him. I realize the same time Katniss does, that we're in the tunnel that leads up to the Capitol. It goes through mountains. These mountains were one reason for losing the war that formed the Treaty of Treason, making us travel to the Capitol to fight. The rebels had trouble getting through the mountains, where they were in plain view, easy for the Capitol's air forces to destroy.

We stand for a while, waiting for the darkness of the tunnel to end. The train slows and bright light shines into the compartment.

Katniss and I can't help but run to the windows, to see a sight we never hae before: the Capitol. The magnificent beauty of it is so exaggerated like you wouldn't believe, but now, seeing it in front of me, there is no way anyone can describe its grandeur. The buildings are so high they almost reach the sky, throwing rainbows everywhere. The cars are shiny and clean, rolling down wide, paved streets that are so dreamlike. People dressed in odd clothing, bright colors, skin dyed, exuding richness. These strangely colored people turn toward us, recognizing the train and possibly our faces.

I notice Katniss step away from the window, probably sickened by the fact that they will watch twenty-four children on their televisions destroy each other, while they live their rich lives, screaming for more gore in the Games. Perhaps I should step away too, but their richness pulls me in, the possibility that they will sponsor us, helping us live longer. I wave and smile at the crowd like I was born to do it. I don't feel nervous in front of crowds and this is an opportunity to win their favor. We pull up at the station so I stop waving. I see Katniss looking at me and say, "Who knows? One of them may be rich."


End file.
